


Inter-Rank Pale Relations

by kayforpay



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Other, Pale Bondage, Pale Romance, Pet Names, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 18:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17854511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayforpay/pseuds/kayforpay
Summary: Threshcutioner Vantas and Vice Subjuggalator Supreme Makara have an early morning meeting.





	Inter-Rank Pale Relations

“This is highly unusual, sir.” You say, arms folded behind your back, which is ramrod straight. Your jaw is set. You’re in your parade blacks. Your hair is in a more tasteful disarray than usual. You’re dressed up for this. “You asked to speak to me after conventional hours?”

 

Gamzee is sitting at his desk, fully dressed in his Vice Subjuggalator Supreme outfit, looking fairly frazzled. You’re not sure if that’s part of the scene, or if the weight of his responsibilities really did hit him very suddenly, as they tend to do. “Yes, uh. I needed to see you, Threshcutioner Vantas.”

 

Your outfit is, in a word, illegal. It’s fake. You sewed every stitch on it, replicated every accoutrement and line, and made it for yourself. You’re not a Threshcutioner, though. Not even a recruit; your blood would have to be tested to hemo-align you with the other rusties in your docket, and you’d be culled on the spot. No, you snagged a stay-hive job and settled in, and made yourself a costume to suit your whims, while Gamzee actually had the job his outfit was made for, and you never stopped being impressed about it. Or mildly turned on by it, but you pushed that aside for the sake of Gamzee’s needs, all of which were paler than moonlight.

 

Like this scene. He found out about your cosplay, and insisted on seeing it, sending you messages and pictures of his own rarely-used uniform, doing that thing with his eyes that makes you want to cry to convince you. You weren’t not interested, of course, in spending time with your palemate, but you had your own proclivities. You can and will ignore them, though. After everything you put him through trying to tough-love him into wellness, you can’t say no to him, even if he’s forgiven you time and again for it.

 

He stands from his desk, and he’s stunning. Deep purple with black stripes, fit at his waist and shoulders, his hair even tied back. The lapels are pressed on his solid black coat, and you have to drag your eyes off his outfit to look at him when he speaks. “You know, uh. I’ve been just. Real down.” He starts, vague enough for you to begin building your own scenario to play along. He walks out from behind his desk and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from running at him. Play along, which means hard to get. “Everythin’ goin’ on’s got a clown busy so much he can hardly rest, let alone talk to anyone much.”

 

Gamzee looks down and away, the picture of anguish, his profile sharply outlined against the lamp behind his desk. You lick your lips, and clear your throat. “Sir, I’m honored you would feel comfortable telling me, but how could I possibly help?” You sound strained, but Gamzee’s almost smiling, barely holding the scene. He could have just asked to see you, really, and not constructed a convoluted backstory to play out, but you appreciate him trying so hard for you; he’s a darling palemate, you don’t deserve him.

 

“I just need someone I can trust to tell all this. Bout the big man’s goin’ on, and all.” He says, fingers crossed behind his back; clown superstitions. You do the same. “I just… I don’t know. It’s a whole hell of a lot more than what I was expecting, gettin’ into all the biz he was in. I’m kinda…”

 

Your turn. Be the inquisitive, gently probing palebait. “Overwhelmed?” He nods, looking even sadder. You carry on, carefully, fingers still crossed. “You must miss him, you know. After working with someone that long, that closely, you have to have some kind of a bond. It’s natural to be feeling like there’s too much to do…” You pause, and he looks at you, caught up, eyes sparkling under his long lashes. “And even lonely. Are you lonely, sir?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” He says, smiling his beautiful, gentle smile at you. You flush, and it has nothing to do with the scene, just the tidal wave of adoration you have for him, as pale as snow, as deep as space, as warm as the sunlight beating against his thin cabin walls when you were young and stayed the day. You have to blink a few times to catch up to where you are, what you’re doing. “I think that’s why I up’n called you, really. Just needed some motherfucker around who wasn’t me.”

 

He reaches a hand out, and you take it, playing tentative; you wonder if he can feel your warmth through the glove. “I’m glad to be here, sir. For you.” This is good. This feels like every pale novel you’ve ever read. Now you just have to be sure not to let it skew into anything sexual; Gamzee isn’t against it, but this is for him, and he wants pale. “I want to be able to… Support you.” You say, softly, feeling honestly shy when he looks at your with his bright, reverent eyes. You love him. You adore him. He could rip you in half and you couldn’t regret loving him the way you do.

 

“It. It means a lot. Thank you.” He mumbles, and you can see his ears turning purple. You need to tell him this kind of thing more. First, though, he pulls you closer, lifting your hand until he can kiss the inside of your wrist, soft and cold. You slide your hand into his hair, sighing gently. He relaxes just so under your fingers. “Can you stay the day, Threshcutioner Vantas? I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna be alone after this, either.”

 

It’s like a novel. You’re dying. “Of course, Vice Subjuggalator. I would be honored.” Then, when he meets your eyes with his earnest ones again, you smile, shedding a layer of the character. “Can we sit down somewhere? To talk.” Your hand is still in his hair, and you’re regretting wearing gloves for not being able to scratch his scalp like he likes.

 

Gamzee nods quickly, dislodging your hand, and stands to lead you across the room to his low, slightly oversized sofa; oversized to you, you suppose. He is a clown. You sit down primly, unbuttoning your coat with practiced efficiency and then folding your gloves in one of the pockets, and he sits by you. His outfit is gorgeous on him. He makes you so proud, having gotten over the sopor and having really, really worked to be where he is. You can’t help but adore him, and admire his every aspect, even the silly ones.

 

He’s such a warm person. You’re lucky to have him.

 

You watch him fumble with his button, resisting the urge to do it for him; if you weren’t playing, you could undress him as much as you liked and he wouldn’t do anything but return the favor; skin on skin helps him calm down, and he’s sort of a nudist anyway. But, you’re playing at a tentative, tender meeting between different ranks, so you let him take his coat off, and try not to wince when he drops it on the floor. The wrinkles will be hell to get out.

 

How you’re sitting, faced toward him, his knee touches yours, and you lean forward to cover his knee with your hand; his cold seeps into your skin, and for a second you lose yourself in the scene. He’s your higher-up, your commander. You’re a Threshcutioner, but that’s still only the highest rank a rust can achieve, nothing even brushing the lower edges of a Subjuggalator, let alone the Vice Highblood. Yet here he is, all this power over you, physical and career and mental, with his voodoos, baring his concerns to you, his worries. 

 

_ You,  _ his subordinate.  _ You,  _ not another clown, no one else. You’re the one he wants to comfort him. You’re the one he wants. You stand, swallowing sharply. “Sir, i-if I may.” He nods. “I, I may have an idea to, uh. Help relieve your tension more effectively.” His lips twitch in a smile, but your nerves aren’t anything you have to put on.

 

“I’m willin’ to try anything, Threshie.” He says, and you want to kiss him. Instead, you turn back to your coat and it’s deep pockets, and he stretches himself out. “I really appreciate you doin’ this at all. Listenin’ to me. Couldn’t ask anyone else.”

 

The cuffs are padded, scandalously pale. Purple, his purple, on the outside, with soft, squishy,  _ pink  _ lining it. Most cuffs are padded, but the colors of these make you flush just holding them; he’d ordered them special, sized for his wrists and sewn with your illegal red in the stitches. You’ve never used them before, though you’ve been tempted. He suggested it. Somehow it always feels too soon, too much, like you might scare him off. He says that’s something that comes with being in love, though. A need to do the most and a fear of it being too much. You kiss them, lightly, and turn back to where he’s squirming in excitement.

 

“Gamzee.” You don’t have your voice on for this. “If you want to stop for anything -  _ anything _ \- just tell me. As soon as you say it, I’ll take them off for you. You don’t even have to be scared. If you just don’t want to do it anymore, tell me. Okay?”

 

His eyes glitter with easy calm, and he cups your cheek. “I’ll let you know if anythin’ comes up, dewdrop. Promise.” You kiss his palm, and he takes his hand back, giving you a few seconds to breathe before resuming the scene. “You wanna get me tied down? I never did any of that.” He mumbles, looking shy and nervous all over again, all eight feet of him. You stroke his hair soothingly, shoving aside your own, natural shakiness about attempting this.

 

“Just a little. You’ll feel so much calmer, I promise.” You stroke his hair again, and he leans into it, sits partway up to fold his arms behind his back. While you tighten the cuffs on him, his ears flick, and you lean your forehead against his shoulder. “Tell me how you’re feeling. I’m going to call you Gamzee for this.”

 

Gamzee nods, and lets you cradle his back to lay him down softly, lets you tuck a pillow under his head. He turns his head to face you, and you kneel on the floor, letting the reality of having actually cuffed your real-life palemate down wash over you while you pet his hair. He licks his lips, organizing his lines in his head. You didn’t discuss the details, just what sort of things he might discuss; nothing that would make you have to take a break, because this is for him. Your blood is off the table, your status, any background for your character having gotten into the academy. You’re going to talk about him. Whatever about him he needs.

 

After a long silence, he sighs. “Been scared, recently. So much piles up on a motherfucker when he isn’t looking out for it first, I worry I’m gonna get buried and let my congregation fall.” His voice is soft, sincere. You rest a hand on his chest, and he breathes deeply before continuing. “Nothin’s fallen yet, but I got more and more goin’ on nightly. Big man’s gettin’ himself in a tussle about some damn thing every night, and then all the grubs we’ve gotten, and fuckin’--” He chokes up, and you coo, leaning over him possessively, eyes on his face while he breathes. “Fuckin’. Old bird’s been gettin’ slower. I know she’s older’n sin but I’m so damn scared. I don’t wanna lose her. She’s been the only lusus I ever got.” His voice is choked, and you crawl over him, cooing more.

 

He squirms his arms when you sit on his lap, and for an instant you see him panic, before he meets your eyes again. He calms, and you hold his face, careful of his paint. “That’s a lot to have to handle, Gamzee. It’s so much more than you should need to.” He sniffles, and your voice drops lower. “But you’re so strong. You’ve always been so strong, Gamzee. You can handle it. And I’m sure she’s just cold. It’s winter. She’s not as old as you think.” You smile, gently, and he hiccups, smiling while tears stream down into his hair. “There’s my smile. You’re going to be alright, Gamzee. I swear. You will never have to be alone for any of this ever again.”

 

You press your forehead to his and he squirms again, whining gently when the cuffs hold anyway and turning his shoulders until you press them down, purring louder. He huffs softly, mumbles about wanting to hold you, and you shush him again, reminding him that he’s fine. He mutters a little, and you turn his head to the side, kissing his jaw.

 

“You’re alright, Gamzee. I’ve got you. Stop squirming so much, my pale.”  You say, in the low voice you use for him. “You’ll be alright, just relax for me. I’m not going anywhere. I just need you to lay still, okay?”

 

Gamzee wriggles harder, his eyes wide. “I wanna move. I’m scared.” He knows what to say if he has to stop; he also knows that you'll stop even if he thinks he can keep going, because you know when he goes too far. It isn't there yet. “I'm scared, Karkat.”

 

Kiss him again, pushing back his hair to press your lips to his forehead, and then his cheeks, his chin, the tip of his nose. He stops squirming when you kiss him, instead whining low in his throat and moving his legs, though his shoes clatter to the floor a second later, so it might be unrelated. You slide your hands through his hair, and wrap them around his horns, holding him still while you press your forehead to his. He sobs again.

 

“I don’t wanna be alone, bro.” A whine, his voice shaking in his throat and his arms straining harder against the cuffs. “I don’t wanna be alone. I don’t wanna lose her. I don’t--” He chokes, shuddering through another sob. He’s choked when he goes on, voice low and cracking. “I don’t wanna be alone again. I was so f-fuckin’, scared. All the time. I don’t even remember what he looked like.” His lusus. You stroke his hair, kiss his forehead. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

 

Gamzee’s stopped shaking as much, and he tosses his head to sob again. You kiss his temple, the corner of his eye, his cheek, and he shivers under you, whimpering. “Shhh. You’re never, never going to be alone again. I’m here for you anytime you want me.” You breathe, nuzzling against the side of his head and his soft hair. “Anytime, Gamzee. My poor pale love, shh. I’m here. I’m here, just relax, primrose, diamonds.” You keep your voice low, almost whispering, and his sobs stutter as they calm, he leans into your hand on his other cheek. You pap him, firmly, without lifting your head from where you’re leaned over him.

 

“Karkat.” He mumbles, his voice all rough with crying. “You promise?”

 

You turn his head now, and meet his eyes, look at him closely, smiling. “I promise. Anytime, anywhere, just tell me. You won’t get rid of me until you make me leave, Gamzee.” He sniffles, and you brush away the last few tears he sheds. “I love you. Okay?”

 

He nods, fast enough he headbutts you a little. “Yeah. I know. I love you too, bro. I do. I just. I get lonely.” He wiggles, and you kiss his lips, terribly gentle.

 

“Then you call me. I always want to talk with my moirail, Gamzee. You’re my favorite person.” You kiss him again, and he sighs against your mouth, relaxing at last, so you sit back up and pet at his cheeks. “And I’ll remind you as many times as you need, too. You’re too precious to me for me not to.”

 

Gamzee is leaned into your right palm, breathing softly against your wrist, and you scoot down to sit on his hips. He sits up when you tug his shoulders, and leans limp against your front while you take his cuffs off, breathing out soft little shushes all the while, and he stays there against you even once they clatter on the floor, his face against your neck. You kiss his jaw, his hair, the base of his horn, holding him tight and secure against your chest. You adore him, you say, and he mumbles something back to you, his face in your shirt.

 

Just behind the corner of his jaw, under his ear, you kiss him, and he goes limp, completely, sighing out a long breath like you’d knocked the wind out of him slowly. You know that spot, because it always gets him to sleep, even when he was having bad nights, and you lay down on top of him now, purring louder while he sinks into sleep, his claws hooking in the back of your shirt, like he trusts you to protect him from anything.

 

You just keep petting his hair, even after your legs start to feel numb, and he snores softly, eventually flipping onto his side and bringing you along with him, and you can stretch your legs back out to sleep with him. Maybe you’ll finish the real scene another time, when he isn’t so clearly scattered and worried, or maybe you won’t. You feel good, either way, with his head on your shoulder and his arms around you, drooling slightly into your pressed cotton shirt. You’ll wash it, and it’ll be fine. This is a better use for your uniform than any other you can think of off the top of your head, getting your moirail to cry for you so you could calm him.

 

He sleeps so soundly, you can’t help but follow suit with him.

**Author's Note:**

> this was just for fun!


End file.
